Drips & Drabs: ficlets, drabbles and ideas
by Rhianona
Summary: Collection of ficlets, drabbles and potential fic ideas set in the Harry Potter universe
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: [Insert witty comment here] Harry Potter doesn't belong to me**

_Written for the Awesome Ladies' ficathon on livejournal, to the prompt: Hermione Granger, gives them hell_

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* * *

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The Magical World, Hermione Granger decides sometime in her third year, is a big, fat lie. Actually, she's known that since the first few months of her first year, but she can't admit it, not to herself.

It seduces you with its pretty little lies, all wrapped up in the _idea_ of magic - that you're special and that there's this whole world out there just waiting to accept you.

Professer McGonagall never mentioned the prejudice. At first, she just thinks it's a few ignorant people, that she can overcome all that and flower and bloom in the new world she has joined.

She learns differently.

She doesn't really think about it until her third year, when she begins researching the law to help Hagrid and Buckbeak. Instead, she gets sidetracked when her eye catches some law about Muggleborns. It doesn't really matter what the law is about because it sends her on a research frenzy that takes her until her sixth year to understand fully. What she finds horrifies her.

Muggleborns have little rights in the Wizarding world. Maybe, if she's lucky and she marries well (but really, what noble Pureblood will want to marry a Muggleborn? James Potter was the exception, not the norm.), she'll be able to secure a decent job in the MInistry. But that's only if her husband will allow her to work.

Hermione hates the Wizarding world in that moment. Hates that her excitement at being told she's special because she has _magic_ has caused her to all but abandon her Muggle parents. And for what? Pipe dreams and pretty little lies. The Wizarding world won't let her be what she wants.

She sits down and thinks after she discovers all this. Her fate is tied to Harry's, has been since he saved her from that troll their first year. The war that's been brewing since Harry returned to the Wizarding world erupted at the end of her fifth year; if Voldemort wins, at best she's dead. She doesn't want to think about what they might do to her before that. But if Harry wins...

Harry is the last of an Ancient house but Muggle-raised and without the prejudices most Wizards - even the Weasleys and Dumbeldore - have. If he wins, with her at his side, then maybe, just maybe they can change things.

And even if the Wizarding world doesn't want to acknowledge her just because of her birth, well... Hermione Granger's determined to show them just what a Muggleborn witch can do. She'll give them hell.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm participating in the Harry Potter Last Author Standing Challenge on livejournal. Much to my amazement, I've managed to make it to round 6. This is week 1's challenge: We had to incorporate 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,' which, for those who aren't familiar with it, is a show by which friends submit a 'helpless' guy friend for a complete makeover that includes teaching the subject to cook a fancy meal, new clothes, decorating the house, a new facial regime, etc... All of this is done by the 'Fab Five,' a group of gay men who are 'experts' in their fields.

**Pairing:** Hints of Harry/Ginny

**Spoilers:** post-DH

* * *

"According to his friends, Harry's hopeless," Carson began, eyes widening as they watched the video of Harry. He tsked. "What _is_ he wearing?"

"He can cook," Ted offered.

"But, knows nothing about alcohol," Jai countered, ruining his happy grin.

"His hair is a disaster," Kyan commented.

"I can see why they called us," the last of the Fab Five said as they saw the inside of the house. Thom wasn't sure he could make it better. Sharing a look with each other, they smirked.

They all loved a challenge.

* * *

"Harry just needs a push in the right direction," Hermione earnestly said.

"The poor dear has such awful hair," Molly clucked. "He could neaten it, but he's refused."

"I would love to visit with his godson," Andromeda Black stated, looking regal. A rambunctious toddler sat in her arms, his hair cycling through different hues. "The house is a disaster! Teddy could get hurt."

"Uh…, Hermione and mum both say he needs some new clothes and stuff," Ron said, looking confused.

"Potter has a responsibility to his family name to look respectable," Minerva McGonagall stated, looking as stern as always.

"He _is_ the Savior of the wizarding world and should look the part," Minister Shacklebolt said, shrugging.

* * *

The first inkling Harry had to any of this was when Kreacher announced that "dirty Mudbloods were in the front hall." Harry just sighed at the epitaph. Kreacher wouldn't change.

He wandered down and blinked in surprise. "Uh… hello?"

"Oh dear god! It's worse than I thought!" Carson exclaimed. He took a turn around Harry and shook his head. "I'm going to need hours with him."

Thom just whimpered. "How can I make this better?" he asked, pointing to the dark decor that made up the majority of Grimmauld Place. He started walking through the house. "Are those… house elf heads?"

"Harry! My name is Jai and we're _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_." He went on to introduce a bewildered Harry to the rest of them and explained why they were here.

"Hermione organized this, didn't she?" Harry asked.

"Stop chatting! We don't have much time," Carson ordered. "You, go with Kyan _right_ now while I figure out if there's anything salvageable in your wardrobe." He shooed them out of the house and they got to work.

* * *

"Garbage… garbage… garbage…," Carson wailed as he tossed each and every piece of clothing to the floor.

* * *

"I'm not going to bother trying to redo the entire house. I'm just going to focus on the dining room," Thom said. "The walls are actually solid wood paneling, so I'm going to clean them and varnish them a light brown. That will make the room look bigger and more cheerful."

* * *

"How does an eighteen year old not have any music?" a bewildered Jai asked.

* * *

"Does he realize he has a great wine collection down here?" Ted asked, wiping the dust off yet another premium bottle.

* * *

"Nothing done to my hair ever works," Harry warned.

"We're going to put product in it. Now, some people are scared by this sort of thing," Kyan explained, "but there's really nothing to it." And he demonstrated how to use it. Even Harry had to admit his hair looked better, as if he had deliberately made it messy. He even started to like Kyan… until the man dragged him to the moisturizers and facial washes.

* * *

"Carson, he's all yours!" Kyan yelled up the stairs and asked for a martini.

"Does dirty Mudblood want it shaken or stirred?" Kreacher grumbled.

* * *

"I can't do much in the time we have, but I'll do my best," Carson began. He dragged Harry into an upscale men's store and started shoving clothes in his direction.

Harry spent the next few hours trying on different things; he barely took in what Carson was saying but if he knew Hermione, she would take notes.

"See? These are clothes that fit. You have a dynamite ass, Harry. You should show that off," Carson purred and stroked Harry's arm.

"Right," he said, and clutched the bags in his hands.

* * *

"The house has great potential" Thom explained. "You don't need to do much, just get in some lighter colors and change some of the more… dated decor." He went on to detail exactly what he was doing to Harry's dining room and why and made suggestions for the rest of the house.

They both ignored Kreacher's mutterings in the corner.

* * *

"Do you have anyone special in your life?" Jai asked him. Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"Um… I don't know." Images of Ginny danced in his head. They really hadn't talked about their relationship in the aftermath of the war.

Jai shook his head. "First of all, you need to project a more self-confident image."

For the next two hours, Jai instructed Harry on his body language. He had never realized just what his body language had said to people.

* * *

"I snooped around your wine cellar and found a case of this fabulous red," Ted said.

"I have a wine cellar?" Harry asked.

Ted grimaced and continued. "We're going to make this the centerpiece of your meal."

* * *

"Alright Harry," Jai said. "The rest is up to you. Your friends are coming at seven. Good luck!"

"Right. Um… thanks," Harry said and smiled.

It looked forced.

* * *

"What do you think?" Jai asked.

"I'm so nervous!" Carson admitted, sipping his martini.

"I think Ted had the easiest part," Thom complained. "He already knew how to cook."

Ted really couldn't protest that. "Oh look! He's out of the shower."

Harry followed the instructions each of the men had given him, from his hair to his skin to his clothing.

Cooking the meal didn't take much effort on his part and he even remembered how to uncork and pour the wine properly.

With minutes to spare, he finished setting up the dining room for his guests.

The stunned looks on their faces were almost worth the hassle.

Almost.


	3. Chapter 3

Week two of Harry Potter Last Author Standing. The prompt was leather.

I'll be honest - I was shocked I made it past this round. I couldn't figure out what I wanted to write until the afternoon it was due. I originally had a different idea that had to do with bondage and sensory deprivation, etc... but I couldn't get it to work for me. Instead, I ran this off and well... I don't love it. Others didn't love it but I made it past this round, so others must have provided worse entries. I'm not really sure what I was trying to do with this to be honest.

* * *

The soft, supple leather molded onto the silky weight of her breasts. They rose, pale and round, tightly clasped in the bodice, displayed for everyone's attention, just this side of decency.

Each breath she took sent a frisson of pleasure streaking through her body with a sharp reminder of what she wore. The musky smell of the leather teased her senses, mixing and mingling with the aroma of the flowers that decorated the room and the perfumed scents other guests wore.

The looks of shock, of interest, of determination, of want - of _desire_ - on the faces of men and women alike, placed a small, cat-like grin on her face. This was even better than her entrance at the Yule Ball in her fourth year.

She didn't think Lavender or Parvati would give her a dare like this in the future. Especially since the most eligible of witches and wizards lined up to greet her.

No, no one had ever thought that Hermione Granger would look as sensual, as dangerous, as _seductive_ as she did in black leather and satin.

More fool them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** In the Sweet Hereafter

**Character/Relationships:** Sirius, James/Lily, Regulus

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** Character Deaths but canon

**Author's Notes: **Written for Week 3 of Harry Potter Last Author Standing. The prompt was Reunion. I liked this but had some issues with the ending.

* * *

He fell: through dark and through light; for mere moments and for eons; drifting to the ground like a leaf falling from a tree and plummeting to the ground with a great velocity that would surely leave him with broken bones.

It was over with an abruptness that left him breathless. He stumbled to his feet, his mind trying to grasp what had happened when Bella - sweet, mad, Bella - sent him through the Veil. He figured he was dead. No other answer made sense.

"Should have realized you'd be the first to join us," a much beloved voice said. Sirius spun around, his heart in his throat as he gazed with shocked eyes at the once familiar visages before him, ones he now only saw in his nightmares.

Messy black hair, hazel eyes almost hidden by rounded spectacles, a tall, lean form, a lithe red head with familiar green eyes hanging over his shoulder. They smiled at him and he fell to the ground, his mouth gaping as he took them in. "James? Lily?" his voice hoarse with shock.

"Who else would greet you, Padfoot?" James asked and helped Sirius to his feet. He hugged him and Sirius sobbed into his shoulder. Lily moved to embrace him too, and they had a strange three-way hug. It was almost too much for him. He had never thought to be reunited with his best friend and his wife again.

They murmured words of comfort as he collapsed into them. It could have taken years or mere minutes; Sirius didn't really know. All he knew was that when he finished, when he finally calmed down and stopped sniffling, he felt a clarity he hadn't felt since before that awful Halloween all those years ago.

"How?" he finally asked.

"You're dead," another male voice drawled. Turning, Sirius saw another familiar face: his brother.

"Regulus?" he asked and started forward before remembering the last time he saw him and halted.

"Brother," Regulus nodded and sighed, opening his arms for a hug. Sirius didn't waste time and flew into them; he remembered how close they once were, and how later, they eschewed each other's presence the moment he fled to the Potter's. How they ended upon opposite sides of the war. None of that seemed to matter, not now, not when he had his baby brother in his arms once again.

"What now?" Sirius finally asked and the Potters joined the two brothers.

James shrugged. "Now… you do what we do. Watch the living. Hope we won't see anyone we love join us until they've lived a full life."

"That's it?"

"We can't do much else," Lily said gently.

"But… Harry…" Sirius said and looked sad.

James and Lily looked pained and he felt the guilt he had felt ever since he had stumbled into Godric's Hollow to find them dead. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"It's not your fault!" James insisted and grasped his shoulder in comfort. "We were fated to die so that Harry could live."

"But…" Sirius started to protest but Lily covered his mouth with her hand.

"From the moment Voldemort heard part of the prophecy, we were marked," she explained.

"It's not fair," he said.

"No, it's not," James agreed. He looked over to Regulus and nodded. "We have a lot to tell you."

Sirius looked confused but they didn't let him wonder for long. Regulus explained that he had left the Death Eaters after discovering Voldemort had created horcruxes, something that horrified both brothers. It was considered such an evil magic that no Black would ever attempt it. As if that weren't enough, James told of the decisions Dumbledore had made about Harry, and all that his son had suffered, both before Hogwarts and afterwards.

"I shouldn't have gone after Peter," Sirius said and hung his head in shame. The fog that encircled his mind since his incarceration in Azkaban lifted and he suddenly saw all the myriad ways in which he had messed up.

"It's not your fault," James insisted, but Sirius didn't believe him. Just being here with James and Lily and Regulus forced him to re-evaluate his own actions, to see how he hadn't treated Harry fairly or looked after him like he should have. And now he was dead and couldn't change any of it. It wasn't fair.

"Stop your self pity," Regulus scolded and bopped his brother on the head. "You can't change the past."

"I know," Sirius choked out but it didn't make him feel better.

"We have a plan," Lily said and her eyes sparkled with the same hidden fire he had seen during the war.

"What can we do?" Sirius asked.

"Not too much, but we're going to do everything we can to make sure Harry doesn't join us anytime soon," James informed him.

"Anything you need," Sirius pledged. For the first time in a long time, he felt invigorated, felt like he could make a difference and maybe, just maybe, atone for all his sins.

"Here's what we'll do…" Lily began and the three men listened as she began to outline the limited ways in which they could help Harry defeat Voldemort. None of them wanted Harry to join them, not before he had lived a full and happy life.

Maybe later Sirius could process what it meant to be dead, could reconnect with his brother and learn who he was. Could forgive himself for suggesting Peter to Lily and James and going after him instead of protecting Harry. For not taking Bella more seriously when they fought and surviving to help his godson in the tasks before him.

So much to regret but now, with Lily and James and Regulus by his side, Sirius focused on the important task of keeping Harry alive. He could do nothing else.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** You're a Real Boy Now

**Character/Relationships:** Harry, Luna, Neville

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** allusions to canon child neglect

**Author's Note:** Written for week 4 of Harry Potter Last Author Standing. Prompt was: Coincidence.

* * *

It had taken a bit of maneuvering, but Harry had finally managed to escape the Burrow and, with that, the well-meaning fussing of the various Weasleys. He might hate Grimmauld Place, but it afforded him a measure of privacy and safety that nowhere else in the Wizarding world could. He needed the time to himself, needed to figure out his future without Mrs. Weasley's input… and needed to decipher the rather cryptic comment Luna had given to him earlier in the week.

_"How does it feel to be a real boy now?" Luna asked, her feet dangling in the pond. Harry frowned in confusion._

_"I'm always been real," he pointed out._

_She smiled, shaking her head. "You don't have to dance on anyone's strings anymore unless you choose to, Harry." When he didn't respond, she giggled and started a new conversation about nargles and flipperwhips and other fantastical creatures._

He tried not to think of her comments about strings and real boys but her words continued to echo in his mind. What, exactly, had she meant?

* * *

"Have you spoken to Luna recently?" Harry asked Neville, a bottle of butterbeer held loosely in his hands.

The other man shook his head. "No, why?"

Harry sighed. "Just something she said to me."

"She can be cryptic," Neville said.

"More so than usual," he complained. "She asked how I liked being a real boy now."

Neville snorted and shook his head. "She watched one of those… movies? Is that what it's called? The moving picture thing on the tellervision?"

"Television," Harry corrected, well-used to wizards who didn't seem to understand even the simplest of Muggle technology. "Who let her do that?"

"Hermione," Neville said. That explained it, then.

"So she saw some movie and decided I wasn't a real boy?" Harry asked and the confusion he felt echoed in his voice.

"I suppose," Neville agreed. "I don't remember the name of the movie she watched." He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "She once told me I was lucky to have my grandmother to protect me. That maybe if you had had one, things would have been different for you." Unspoken between them was that Neville could have been the Boy-Who-Lived and all that might have meant.

"Well… yeah," Harry agreed. For one, he wouldn't have had to spend ten years of his life in a cupboard. Or wear hand-me-down clothes that were far too large for him. But what did that have to do with being a 'real boy?'

* * *

The talk with Neville gave him enough clues for Harry to try and figure out Luna's comment. Ron and George and Hermione all knew that the Dursleys didn't treat him well - but he also knew they didn't really _know_. Why else would they not tell their parents about his treatment? Or take Dumbledore's side when he begged to spend the summers elsewhere?

It didn't take much searching to figure out that Luna had seen _Pinocchio_; it took longer to decipher what she meant by calling him a 'real boy.' He hated to admit it, but it took re-reading the excerpt from Dumbledore's biography he had seen in the _Daily Prophet_ all those months ago for him to understand what she meant.

Rita had accused Dumbledore of orchestrating his life; he had dismissed it then but it was more difficult to do so now. No threat of imminent death and no one hunting him down (except for crazed fans and how he loathed them) - all of that meant he had time to consider her comments rather than dismiss them wholly out of hand. As much as Rita exaggerated or outright lied about things, there was often a small kernel of truth in her writings. So maybe, just maybe, she had been right.

Harry spent a night pulling together a list of thoughts and memories and evidence, seeking to disprove her theory. It didn't really help.

Dumbledore had placed him with the Dursleys; he had refused to allow Harry to stay anywhere else but with them; for some reason, Social Services had never been called on them - and Harry knew that at least some of his grade school teachers had questioned why he wore such terrible clothing and not his cousin. The Dursleys had also never really hidden where he had slept in their house. A cupboard for a bedroom wasn't acceptable yet no one protested.

Was it mere coincidence that the wizard who introduced him to his parent's world had a deep prejudice against the Slytherins? Or that Mrs. Weasley loudly mentioned Muggles in a train station or asked her children how to get to the train? What about how Harry and his friends always figured out just enough to supposedly save the day when grown - and trained - witches and wizards couldn't.

How long had Dumbledore known Harry would have to die in order to defeat Voldemort? He had claimed he hadn't wanted to burden him with that knowledge but Harry also had no training that might help him. Was that why he had been sent to the Dursleys? So he would look to the Wizarding world as a refuge? So he would gladly die for it?

Harry didn't want to think that, didn't want to believe that he had lived an orchestrated life, that coincidence aside, the men and women he had looked up to had only seen him as a weapon to be used and little else.

As he examined his life in minute detail, Harry wished more than anything that he had ignored Luna. It would ease the ache in his heart if he could.


	6. Chapter 6

**Story Title:** Accidental Magic

**Character/Relationships:** James/Lily, Sirius, Remus

**Rating:** PG

**Author's Note:** Written for Harry Potter last author standing, round 5. Prompt was: [character] catches a cold. I rather liked this though I think the end could be stronger.

* * *

The sneeze echoed throughout the small house, followed by a cursed exclamation. James Potter peeked through the bedroom door, a box of kleenex in his hand as an offering; it might just save him from the accidental magic caused by Lily's flu.

"Lily-flower? Can I get you anything?" he asked. His miserable wife lay propped up on their bed, a mug of once-warm tea cooling on the bedside table and a pile of used kleenex overflowing the bin. A book, charmed to be read aloud, lay forgotten on the comforter. Her usually lustrous hair was lank with sweat, her green eyes bright with fever.

"I don't like being sick," she complained.

"I know," he said and placed his gift on the table. He used his hand to touch her forehead and grimaced. "You still have a fever."

"I ache, James. I hurt and I want to feel better."

"Poppy said I can't give you any of the usual potions, that it would hurt the baby," he reminded her.

"I know that James!" she said and grimaced as the accidental magic reacted to her temper and turned him polka-dotted. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He forced a smile on his face. "I know," and he kissed her on her forehead. Hopefully, it would wear off soon. "I'll bring you some soup. Remus and Sirius said they'd stop by later today too. Should I have them bring you anything?"

She shook her head and pouted. James wanted nothing more than to be able to wave his wand and cure Lily, but he couldn't. "Poppy did say if your fever didn't go down anymore we should try some more of that Muggle medicine you mentioned."

"Make sure you don't get me anything that's bad for the baby," she reminded him.

"I have the list of I can buy," he said. "I'll send Remus when he gets here."

"Thank you," she said.

He fluffed her pillows and tucked her in before heading back down to warm up the soup. Poppy had given him a long list of how to handle his pregnant wife while she had the flu, including which medicines she could take without harming their unborn child.

"Hey, Prongs! We're here!" Sirius called out as he gave a perfunctory knock and entered the house.

"In the kitchen!" James called out and hoped the relief he felt wasn't evident. It wasn't that he begrudged caring for his wife - he loved Lily with every fiber of his being. He was, however, getting tired of caring for the ill witch, if only because of the random bouts of accidental magic that so far had been limited to changing him various colors or giving him random animal parts.

"I see the wife got you again," Sirius chuckled.

"For that, you can bring her the soup," James said and handed his best friend the tray he had prepared.

"Prongsie!" Sirius pouted but obeyed. James really didn't know what he would do without such good friends like these two.

"How much longer, do you think?" Remus asked.

"Poppy can't say for sure. It can't be too much longer, can it?" James asked and looked worried. "I can see why so many witches and wizards stop with one kid!"

Remus laughed. "I'm sure that's not why."

"Moony… you don't understand! Lily is sick and she's miserable so I'm miserable and I can't give her anything to ease it because otherwise it harms the baby. You know she's a powerful witch and the accidental magic just lashes out! I can't go through this again!" he whined.

"I think you'll change your mind," Remus said.

"You're wrong. But since you're here… I need to get some Muggle medicine for Lily. Can you pop around to the chemists? It's not like I can go out like this."

"No, I don't think polka dots… and is that a bunny tail?" Remus stifled a laugh.

James manfully - or so he thought - refrained from saying anything else and just handed Remus some money and the list. He loved his friends, especially when they came over and risked Lily's temper and accidental magic to help him, but he could do without their teasing.

"Be right back," Remus said and left the house again. James took the time to calm down a bit and drink some pumpkin juice. Given the quiet that had followed a surprised yelp and bump, he should see what Lily had done to Padfoot.

He really couldn't wait until she felt better. Never mind her desire to be healthy - he needed it for his sanity!

Of course, as soon as he entered his bedroom, he tripped over the new ottoman Lily had decided to make.


	7. Chapter 7

**Story Title:** Frozen Image

**Character/Relationships:** Harry, Lily Potter

**Rating:** G

**Warnings:** Canon death

**Author's Note:** Written for round 6 of HP LAS. Prompt was: 'a single tear.' Interesting story behind this one: I had originally misremembered the prompt as "one single tear" so had this whole elaborate fic planned out with Regulus Black and how he never cried but when he was dying after sending Kreacher away he shed one single tear. Than, when I checked the prompt, I decided that wouldn't work. Don't ask me why the difference of one word changed my mind, it just did. I'm pretty happy with this, though as it tends to be with my writing, I'm not thrilled with the writing. I think the one thing I've learned from this whole process of writing for a LAS competition is that having to write to a word limit is difficult. It definitely affects just how deep I can go into something... At any rate, I made it past this week's voting round so we have at least one more of these coming at some point in the future. :)

* * *

It was a memory he both loved and loathed. Loved because it was the last and only memory he had of her and loathed for that same reason. Red hair was fanned out on the floor creating a halo around her face; her alabaster skin glowed faintly in the darkened room; and her green eyes lay open, frozen with an emotions he had never tried to decipher, too scared to do so.

He knew, of course, the events that led up to that last horrible but beloved image. That knowledge didn't make it better. He didn't know her, didn't know what thoughts might have run through her mind in those last seconds of her life.

The most haunting aspect of the memory was the single pristine tear that glistened on her cheek. Did she weep for the death of her husband mere moments before? Was it anger or despair? Fear? Or maybe, it was one of relief, knowing that she would no longer need to fight or to hide. That she could finally have peace.

He wanted to believe that the tear was for him. That in those last seconds of life, as she tried to guard him from Voldemort and all the while knowing she had failed, that she wept for her son and his too short life.

Almost anyone else would assume the latter; Harry, however, had grown up in a household that hated his very existence. He wanted to believe that his mother's last thoughts were of him but a part of him - the part that didn't believe anyone could ever actually love him - couldn't.

A single tear… it could mean so much. And Harry spent hours trying to find meaning in his only memory of his mother. He loved and loathed it… and guarded it closely to his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Story Title:** Balm to the Soul

**Character/Relationships:** Harry/Luna

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** implied nudity and sex

**Author's Notes:** Written for challenge 7 of Harry Potter Last Author Standing. The prompt was: "Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal." ~ Leonard Cohen." Amazingly, I made it through the challenge. I liked the prompt quite a bit but I think the end of what I wrote is a bit weak. I'm not sure what I would do to make this stronger, just know that it does need something. Let me know what you think!

* * *

No one has asked Harry how he got his lightening bolt scar in years. Not since he arrived in the wizarding world. The scar defines him, makes him instantly recognizable.

He hates it.

* * *

"I got it in the car accident that killed my parents," he tells the school's nurse as she bandages a scrape on his knee. "I think it looks pretty cool." She gives him a distracted smile and sends him on his way.

The Dursleys hate his scar but Harry likes it. It makes him different, gives him something uniquely his own when he has little else that is _his_.

Before Hagrid arrives and introduces him to the Wizarding world, Harry never covers his forehead with a fringe.

By the end of his first month at Hogwarts, Harry wishes his fringe would grow faster to hide it.

* * *

"Is that where…?" becomes the most common question witches and wizards ask about him. Never to him. They hold his scar in awe and see it as a symbol of victory, of being saved from an implacable foe.

No one seems to care about the price.

* * *

By the end of the war, Harry has more scars about which no one ever asks. They all "know" how he got them. They are reminders of every so-called adventure on which he's been, of pain - physical and emotional - he's experienced… but no one really cares about how or why he got them, just that they add to his legend.

* * *

The sun shines through the windows and Harry relaxes deeper into the bed. Luna lies on top of him, a soft smile on her face as she examines him as if searching for the mysteries of the world - or maybe one of her creatures. He's too content to protest.

He shivers as her finger traces the lightening bolt scar - faded in the days after Voldemort's demise but still present, still serving as an identifier for him. "How did you get this?" she asks.

He frowns up at her, wishes he wore his glasses so he can see her expression better. So he can understand why she would ask. "You know, Lu," he says instead.

She presses a fleeting kiss to his lips and leans her face closer to his. "How did you get it?" she asks again.

A breath, then two and he lets it out in a whoosh of compressed air. "The man who killed my parents gave it to me when he tried to kill me. It held a portion of his soul," he finally says, his unfocused green eyes staring at the ceiling rather than at her. It's the first time he's ever acknowledged what the scar really means and he doesn't want to see even a fuzzy impression of her disgust at his confession.

She hums and kisses his forehead, not reacting at all to what he has just said. "And this?" she asks, tracing the scar on his bicep that is the exact shape of a basilisk fang.

This time, he barely hesitates as he tells her of the fight with Slytherin's Monster and how it felt to feel his life drain away until Fawkes came to save him.

She sits up and the blankets pool around them as her fingers and lips trace each and every scar on his body. With each request she makes, he tells her what no one else seems to want to know. Luna doesn't ignore any of his scars and refuses to move onto a new one until he answers her question.

It takes all day but in the end he's exhausted and feels relieved of a burden he never knew he carried.

"No one's asked about my scars in years," he tells her as he cuddles her close to him.

"I want to know the real you," she says and he smiles. He doesn't know what he did to deserve her but he's determined to hold onto her as tight as he can.

"I love you, Luna Lovegood," he says and steals her breath away with a kiss.


	9. To Be Sworn into Service

Written for au-bingo prompt: Fantasy & Supernatural: Gods and Goddesses.

Gwydion fab Dôn is a magician, hero, and trickster who appears in the Fourth Branch of Mabinogi. Many of the characters in Welsh mythologies are considered gods/goddesses. And, well, he's not a very nice guy, but then what mythological figures are?

**_Disclaimer: _**[Insert witty comment here] Harry Potter doesn't belong to me

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Gwydion fab Dôn smirked as the last Scion of the Potters entered the temple. The interest generated by this one human, both in the Magical and Godly worlds, amused him. The debates on who would claim him as theirs had given him nothing but delight in the last few months - years even - as Gods and Goddesses from all the pantheons approached him to gain the right of choosing him for theirs.

He had sent each and every one of the petitioners away. He would not let the last Potter leave his service. The first of the Potters had pledged her family to him and so would the last. The boy had a destiny (hence the desire by his brothers and sisters to claim him) but he would live or die in Gwydion fab Dôn's service - or not at all.

So he had spoken and so it was that on July 31, 1996, Harry James Potter entered the service of Gwydion fab Dôn as so many of the Potters had in the past and defying the odd-makers in the Wizarding world.

* * *

Harry barely acknowledged his escort as they brought him to the temple for his dedication ceremony. He couldn't help but feel bitter; he should be escorted by his father or godfather but with both dead (and he can't forget the look on Sirius' face as he fell backwards through the Veil) Dumbledore had offered up the Order.

(Not Remus, though, because the werewolf had retreated with the death of the last of his acknowledged packmates. He couldn't help but resent the older wizard for his unwillingness, even now, to put Harry first. Maybe especially now: only two other birthdays had as much importance as his sixteenth and since Remus hadn't appeared on his eleventh, Harry had no expectations for his seventeenth.)

Dumbledore had assigned Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley as chaperones. At least it wasn't Snape. Harry didn't think he could have handled the sneering Potions Professor, not for this.

Hermione, in one of her lengthy letters, had encouraged him to keep an open mind during the ceremony. The twins had asked him for inside information on which God or Goddess would choose him as theirs. Polls in _The Daily Prophet_, _Witch Weekly_ and even _The Quibbler_ suggested that Harry would become a disciple of Zeus - how could he not, when he already wore his symbol on his forehead?

Last summer, when Sirius still lived and had the hope of taking Harry to the temple for this, one of the most important days in a witch's or wizard's life, Harry had learned about his own family's history. The Potters, by and large, were dedicated to Welsh gods and goddesses. James had been a bit of a rebel and been chosen by Loki. Sirius had never been certain if their connection had helped that choice, though James did have Black blood in him, which could have influenced the choice. Macha had chosen Lily for hers; Harry didn't know how to interpret that one. Any aspect of the Morrigan choose him would only seem to cement his fate as 'Chosen One' - the latest title granted to him by the press.

Regardless, Harry knew that all the wizarding world waited with bated breath to see which God or Goddess chose him. All would see it as a harbinger for what the future might bring, whether he would succeed at the task appointed him - or fail. He didn't particularly care who chose him, just that it somehow connected him to the one thing he no longer had: family.

And so it was that he walked up the steps of the temple and went to find his destiny.


	10. Accidental Disclosure

Written for au-bingo prompt: Other: crossover

CSI/Harry Potter crossover. AU for Play with Fire: What if Harry had been in the lab when the explosion occurred?

**Note**:Some of the dialogue is lifted from the CSI episode in question.

**_Disclaimer:_ [insert witty comment here] CSI and Harry Potter don't belong to me**

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Since time immemorial, philosophers, scholars, wizards, and witches have studied Magick. They described it as energy, as a gift from the Gods, as a blessing, or as a curse. Before science became the epitome of mankind's explanations for strange phenomena, Magick simply iwas/i. But, as rational thought and the need to quantify rose to prominence, Muggles regarded Magick as nothing more than superstition from an earlier age.

This didn't stop witches and wizards from continuing to pursue the study of understanding just how Magick worked. And yet, they never could find an explanation that encompassed all examples of it. At last, the books simply said that a witch or a wizard had an internal core of Magick into which they could tap and then manipulate the energy via the use of incantations and wand movements. Some witches and wizards had a closer connection to Magick than others and that allowed for the great feats of Magick.

They had no explanations for why Magick would react to emotions. Why it would sometimes reach out and just iact/i without any conscious direction from the witch or wizard. A miracle, some would call it; others insisted it resulted from a greater connection to Magick despite the lack of proof. They called it 'accidental magic' and left it as that.

Magick was not quantifiable. It simply was. It did not have emotions, not as humans understood it. Magick favored some and they went on to become some of the greatest witches and wizard in history, recognized and lauded as such. Even if they wanted to remain hidden, Magick would not allow them.

Something always broke through.

* * *

"Aren't you glad you came in tonight?" Greg asked Harry with a grin as he handed the latest sample dropped off by one of the CSI's to his intern.

"Delighted," Harry replied with a slight smile. "Clearly, giving up my night off has proven quite rewarding."

Greg laughed and turned his attention to the DNA sample he had started to process. "Not as glamorous as you once thought, huh?"

"Never thought it'd be glamorous," Harry admitted as he bent his head in concentration. "I just like helping people."

"How'd you do with the nail clippers" Grissom asked from the door to the lab.

"Right over here," Greg said, gesturing to where the evidence bag sat. He looked confused at the request as he continued, "figured it wasn't high priority since I'd already ID'ed the semen in the victim."

Grissom sighed and looked at the DNA tech with an almost-frustrated expression. "That only proves that they had sex. The nail clippers can place Jason Kent at the murder scene. His nails, her DNA, traces of the booth, etc..."

"Killer, victim, location," Greg nodded with sudden understanding.

"Holy trinity, Greg. I need that," Grissom said and left the lab.

"Did you understand his reasoning?" Greg asked, his attention already on the nail clipper as he prepared it for testing.

"Yep," Harry replied. He liked that his mentor didn't feel the need to repeat something explained not more than ten feet from him just because he was not the person to whom it was being addressed.

The lab hummed with the process of the machines as the two men set about running samples and printing out reports. Harry's nose twitched as he began to smell something... off.

"Do you smell-?" he began to ask, looking up to see Greg turning towards the fume hood with a puzzled look on his face.

Harry had mere moments to act as he apparated to Greg's side and pushed him to the ground and hopefully safety. "Stay down!" he screamed as his magic reacted to his heightened emotions and put a protective encasing around the exploding fume hood.

* * *

Greg hadn't expected the push given to him and fell to the ground. His knees ached from the impact. He shook his head, feeling off.

"Har-" he began and then stared numbly at what could only be described as a bubble surrounding a pulsing fire ball. He scrambled to his feet and blinked even as others came running at the sound of Harry's shout.

Harry, for his part, looked like some kind of illustration from a comic: he held his hands outstretched before him, his face set in concentration and sweat starting to bead down his face.

"What the hell?" Nick asked as he stumbled to a stop at the entrance. His question remained unanswered as a 'pop' of dislocated air brought Detective Vega to the lab.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"A little help?" Harry gritted. Greg watched as Vega goggled before he passed Greg back to Nick and moved next to the intern. How the hell had the detective arrived here, at his lab?

"What are you doing?" Vega asked.

"Trying to contain this before it destroys the lab and hurts people," Harry said, his jaw taut with tension.

"_How_ are you doing that?" he asked, confusion clear in his voice. Greg just stared blankly at the tableau before him, vaguely aware of others at his back, of Nick's strength holding him up. Knowing somehow that if not for Harry's actions, he would be on the floor his lab destroyed, severely injured - maybe even dead.

"Never mind that," Harry snapped out. "I need my wand if I'm going to contain this with any sort of finesse and not completely exhaust myself." The words didn't make sense to Greg, but Vega must have understood.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Forearm holster," Harry said, nodding towards his right. "It's disillusioned, but you should be able to feel it."

Vega shoved Harry's sleeves up and began to feel along what looked like a bare stretch of skin for something. Greg stared with continued disbelief as the other man presented Harry with a stick of wood, wondering if he had, perhaps, hit his head or inhaled hallucinogenic chemicals since absolutely inothing/i made sense. Greg numbly considered the possibility that this was some sort of twisted dream.

"Now what?" Vega asked as the bubble seemed to strengthen with the use of the wand and Harry looked a little more relaxed.

"Can you shield the others?" Harry asked, jerking his head towards the lab personnel who now crowded the hall, gaping at the phenomenon.

"Uh..." Vega looked unsure but nodded anyway. "Probably."

"Good. I'm going to try and kill the fire and see if I can reverse the effects of the explosion. Let me know when you're ready," Harry ordered.

"I didn't know you could do that," Vega commented as he raised his own stick of wood and a visible flare flashed across Greg's corneas before settling into a barely opaque wall.

"Wait, what about Harry?" Greg asked, tugging on Vega's sleeve. He had no idea what was going on but he wasn't about to let his intern die for it.

"I'll be fine, Greg," Harry answered. Whether that was truth or not, he didn't know - especially since the detective didn't look as confident as the younger man.

"But..." Greg trailed off as Vega pushed him not so gently into the hall, letting Nick take hold of him more firmly so he couldn't get into his lab.

"What's going on here?" Grissom's voice cleared the corridors faster than anything else, but no one answered. "Greg?"

He gave his boss a helpless look. "I have no idea," he said.

"Harry's going to try and diffuse the explosion. We'll explain after," Vega informed them, his voice more terse than normal, not that Greg had had much interaction with him in the past. He seemed tense and watched Harry's actions, looking as if he was going to spring into action at the slightest hint of incompetency.

"What's exploding?" Grissom asked.

"Something under the fume hood," Greg answered. He leaned against Nick, letting his presence calm and focus him. The CSI didn't seem to mind; one hand gently stroked his neck in a gesture of comfort. "I... I had begun to process the nail clippers when I noticed a noxious smell," he said. He frowned. "I remember looking around, trying to see where it was coming from when Harry suddenly popped next to me and pushed me away. He told me to stay down and then, well..." He gestured weakly towards the scene the lab's windows couldn't hide.

"His magic must have sensed something and acted on its own," Nick mused. Greg froze and pulled away slightly.

"Magic?" he asked. "But... wha?"

Vega snorted. "Magic is real," he said bluntly. "And he," gesturing towards Harry, "is one powerful son of a bitch if he can pull this off. I had no idea you could even do something like this."

"I wasn't aware Mister Potter Black was a magic user," Grissom commented.

Nick and Vega snorted, leaving Greg to wonder if he was the only person to not know that magic was real. It only served to heighten his belief that none of this was real, but despite this he couldn't help but focus on the events occurring in his lab, watching with bated breath as the fireball finally disappeared and how Harry carefully repaired everything that had broken in the explosion.

"How is he doing that?" Vega muttered, eyes narrowed with awe and curiosity and respect.

Harry staggered out, his wand no longer in his hand and Greg grabbed him for a hug. "Are you okay?" he asked, maneuvering him down the hall and into the break room, ignoring everyone else around them. He might not know about magic, might not even think any of this was real, but he could tell his friend was tired, that whatever he had done had taken a lot of energy from him and he wasn't about to risk Harry's well-being because of his own doubts.

"I'll be alright," Harry said and patted Greg awkwardly on the shoulder. "It just required a fair bit of finesse." He turned his attention to the detective who was but one of many who had followed them. "Don't suppose you have any pepper-up on you?" he inquired.

Vega looked at him, an incredulous look on his face for a moment before laughing. "Yeah, here you go, kid," he said and handed Harry a vial with some sort of smoking liquid in it.

"What's that?" Greg demanded, his natural curiosity emerging from the shock.

"Just a little something to get my energy levels back up," Harry assured him, before emptying it into his mouth and draining it. Greg watched closely as his pale skin seemed to gain a bit of color and how he did look a bit more awake. He also noticed for the first time scars on some of his exposed skin and wanted very badly to ask about them, though he knew this wasn't the time.

"You completely blew the Statute, you know," Vega said with a casual air. Behind him, Nick snorted as he moved closer to the couch and took up a protective position behind Greg and Harry.

Harry, for his part, looked equal parts stubborn and embarrassed. "I wasn't about to let anyone get blown up," he argued.

"Lucky me, I'm the senior Auror here so I get to decide what we do," Vega continued, as if Harry hadn't even spoken. Greg's mind whirled as he tried to interpret their words, feeling as if the two men were speaking a foreign language. It was clear that both Nick and Grissom understood judging by the lack of questions or scoffing at the idea of magic. He shifted a bit so that he could watch Nick out of the corner of his eye.

Grissom opened his mouth as if to comment, when Vega went on, "can you manage a secrecy web?"

Harry's eyes sharpened and rubbed the bridge of his nose in thoughts. Greg just wished he understood what was causing both Grissom and Nick to tense up and then relax at Vega's suggestion.

"Something to hold the secret within, only to discuss with those who know?" Harry said.

"Yeah," Vega said. "Look, I'll be honest," he continued, his mouth quirking into a half-smile, "this is bad. Real bad. But _obliviating_ the entire shift is also a bad idea. There's no guarantee we'll be able to grab everyone before they leave for one. If you can manage the web, at least no one will lose something important and if you do it now, we can get everyone before someone gets the bright idea to open their mouth."

"Right," Harry nodded and sighed. "I'm going to be wiped afterwards," he warned. "It'll take me at least two full days of rest to get my energy levels back up after this."

"I'll give you the time off," Grissom offered, a tinge of relief in his voice. Clearly, he understood what Harry meant, something that made Greg pout as he still didn't.

"Thanks," Harry said and flicked his eyes over to where Greg sat, his hand still on Harry's. "I promise to explain, later," he told him and Greg sighed. He would have to be satisfied with that.

"Wait! This isn't dangerous, right?" he asked. He didn't want his friend to get hurt any further.

"I'll be fine. Just really, really exhausted," Harry assured him.

He released Greg's hand and pulled out his wand again. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and... _something_ began to happen. Greg watched with fascination as streams of light seemed to flow out of the wand and bathe the lab and everyone in it with some sort of energy. He gasped as something seemed to snap into place and he arched his back at the sensation, only relaxing when he recognized it as _feeling_ like Harry. Several moments seemed to pass before Harry sighed, his wand drooping and his body sagging into the couch cushions as he finished whatever it was he had done.

"Great!" Vega enthused. "You can give me a report when you're better."

Harry didn't look very happy but didn't say anything. "Nick, can you drive Harry and Greg home?" Grissom suggested. "Neither of them should drive."

Nick nodded and helped Harry stumble to his feet. The younger man swayed in place and clearly needed assistance. But why him? Why did Greg have to go home too?

Before he could ask, Grissom spoke, "Greg, you've had a bad shock. Take the rest of the night off to think about it and we'll speak tomorrow."

Greg nodded, knowing that he couldn't exactly gainsay his boss and followed Nick and Harry to Nick's truck.

He had so many questions (not the least why Nick was so solicitous towards him all of a sudden) and couldn't wait until he got his answers.

/fin


	11. Chapter 11

Supposed to be written for Harry Potter Last Author Standing challenge for the prompt: character A turns into character B.

However, I ended up not being able to get my act together with this before it was due, so I used a skipped. I did like the idea though and ended up finishing it after the fact.

**Warnings:** hints of canon child abuse

**_Disclaimer:_ [insert witty comment here] Harry Potter doesn't belong to me**

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Before Hogwarts, before he found out he was a wizard, Harry had wondered what it would be like to be someone else. Had wondered what it would be like if he were Dudley and could eat all he wanted or have every little thing that caught his eye or interest. Had wondered what it'd be like to not have to sleep under the cupboard under the stairs or wear his cousin's hand-me-downs or eat scraps from the table.

He knew it would never happen, not while he lived with the Dursleys, but he couldn't help but dream.

* * *

It wasn't until his fifth year that Harry once again wondered what it'd be like if he were someone else. A wizard without the expectations placed on him by one side and the hatred placed on him by the other. Without rumors of insanity or Voldemort trying to get inside his head. What would it be like if he were Ron? Or Malfoy? Or even an unobtrusive Hufflepuff, one whom no one expected to fight for them and save them from a wizard with decades of more experience.

He tamped down the wistful daydreams and went through the motions of his life, doing what was expected of him.

After the war, witches and wizards throughout the Wizarding world wanted to be him - but not really. Not who he really was. They wanted the legend, the hero who survived the Killing Curse for a second time and who defeated Voldemort with a schoolboy's charm.

No wanted to be the boy who grew up in the cupboard under the stairs, who lived with Muggle relatives who hated his very existence.

* * *

Polyjuice potion tasted awful. The first two times he had tasted it, he'd not thought much of it. He'd been too young to worry about nailing the personality of Goyle the first time he used the potion and during the second time, he'd been more concerned about finding Umbridge and the horcrux than anything else. This, his third time was different.

The taste still made him gag. He grimaced as the potion forced his bones and muscles to shift, knowing he'd have to go through all of this again when it finally wore off. Mechanically, he drew on the clothes specifically made for this little venture. Their target - the man he had become - would never be seen anywhere without the finest of clothes. And he had to admit that the seamstress contracted to the Aurors had done a good job in simulating the style of the target, even if he himself felt uncomfortable.

He found it amazing that polyjuice could change one's outward appearance but little else. He was still Harry Potter, still had the same thoughts and fears and loves and hates as he did when he wore his own face and had his own body.

The potion could change you for a little while, but it didn't give you anything more than a fantasy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** No Happy Endings

**Character/Relationships**: Hermione, Harry, Teddy

**Rating:** PG

Written for Harry Potter Last Author Standing for the prompt: 'crumbs in the butter.' Sadly, this was my last offering as I was voted off in that round. I interpreted it in a metaphorical way whereas my fellow authors interpreted it quite literally. Honestly? I'm not sorry to go. I liked the experience of writing to prompts but at the same time, I found it very taxing at times. I don't love what I came up with for this prompt. I think it's fairly derivative of other fics and ficlets that I've written.

**_Disclaimer:_ [Insert witty comment here] Harry Potter doesn't belong to me.**

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"I'm thinking about going back to the Muggle world," Hermione told Harry.

"To find your parents?" he asked, cradling Teddy in his arms, a position in which she had grown accustomed to seeing him these last few weeks. He had taken to his responsibilities of godfather to the son of Remus and Tonks with the same zeal with which he had approached ending Voldemort.

He looked good with the infant in his arms.

"That too," she said.

He tilted his head and turned his gaze onto her. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Has anything really changed, Harry?"

He furrowed his brow in thought. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Dumbledore kept me pretty isolated."

She snorted, keeping her opinion of the Headmaster to herself. Once, she had idolized him, had believed he had all the answers and every so-called adventure in which the trio had found themselves involved over the years had been part of a bigger plan. Between the lack of true clues on where or how to find Horcruxes and the knowledge that he had set up Harry as a sacrifice, her admiration had turned to disgust.

"We won the war, Harry, but with little exception, not much else has changed. The Snatchers were all imprisoned and some of the Ministry workers are going to face trial for their actions, but there are still Death Eaters who are walking around free," she tried to explain. The frustration she felt towards the community she had adopted as her own but seemed to care little for her came bubbling out. "Malfoy's under house arrest and I know they're going to use Mrs. Malfoy's actions in the forest to their benefit. And what about Umbridge? Or any of those others who sat and worked in the Ministry this past year, continuing their jobs and turning a blind eye to what was going on around them." She let out a sigh and rested her head against her knees, her arms wrapped around her as if to ward off an attack.

"Change comes slowly," Harry said and gave her a sad smile. "I understand why you would want to leave though. I think we all thought that after we won, everything would be better. But it's not, is it?"

"I _obliviated_ my parents, Harry. I took their memories away and gave them new ones to save them. And I can't justify what I did anymore. How were my actions any better than what the Death Eaters did?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, you did what you thought was right at the time. You were wanted just as much as me. If they could have found your parents… I think the only reason the Weasley's mostly made it out of the war intact was because they are Purebloods. Considered Blood Traitors, yes, but still Pureblooded." Hermione was a bit surprised by Harry's insight because he had rarely shown it in the past. However, in the days and weeks following the end of the war, he had slowly but surely started to think for himself, something that had surprised more than one witch or wizard.

"You know, I always thought that the Wizarding world was an amazing place. Somewhere I could belong. And I stayed with you, fought with you because I believed that once we won, once Voldemort was dead and gone, things would get better. That I wouldn't be looked down for my heritage and that I could bring my parents with me to Diagon Alley or even Hogwarts. But now… now I have to find them and see if I can return their memories and then…" she trailed off.

"And then see if they want anything to do with you," Harry finished for her. He reached out with one of his hands to console her. "I wish you could have your happy ending."

"Me too," she said.


End file.
